


Reunion

by BlueColoredDreams



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Cumplay, Dry Orgasm, Exhibitionism, Future Fic, Intercrural Sex, M/M, M/M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Rimming, School Reunions, Snowballing, mastrubation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueColoredDreams/pseuds/BlueColoredDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a candid confession from his former student and a series of magnificent losses at several drinking games, Makoto finds himself sleeping at Tadashi and Kei's apartment... In more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note here, Yamaguchi and Tsukki are 24, and Shimada 35.  
> Additionally, Yamaguchi talks about having a crush on Shimada when he was a teen. Just throwing that out there if that bothers anyone. 
> 
> ANYWAY  
> Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.  
> ((AKA this has barely been edited RIP sorry))

The restaurant is warm and bright and full of chatter; they show the hostess their invitations, Tadashi laughing and dusting snow off of Kei's scarf, and she shows them to the private party room.

It's even louder inside, and warmer from the mass of people crammed into the venue. The invitation-- and subsequent phone conversations-- had said just their graduating year and pertinent people. 

Kei ducks under a low-hung string of paper stars and lights, Yachi's hand if he ever saw it, and mutters to Tadashi, “If it's a class reunion, why was the entire circus invited?”

“Tsukki!” Tadashi laughs, swatting Kei's shoulder.

Kei smirks at his lover and steers him forward against the tide of people who've just noticed their entrance. Eventually, they're separated from each other, with Tadashi getting pulled away into the 'captains club' by Sugawara and Kei getting snatched by Kuroo to be smushed between him and Bokuto and commandeered into helping Kenma judge a drinking contest.

Kei ignores them. So does Kenma. So it goes.

Tadashi drifts from group to group; he's always been friendly with just about anyone. Eventually he finds himself seated at the bar table at the back of the room, back pressed against the table as he watches his friends and sips slowly on a beer Tanaka had foisted on him while they were discussing his university team’s wins in the regional competitions.

“Congrats, by the way.”

Tadashi looks over to the side and grins. “Thanks,” he says warmly. “I didn't realize you guys were invited too.”

Makoto laughs and nods towards the chair beside Tadashi, “It seems no invitation was spared. Anyone sitting there?”

“Go ahead,” Tadashi urges. He studies his old mentor for a moment. It isn't as if he hadn't seen Makoto recently-- he plays pickup games with the neighborhood association all the time, and when he and Kei visit home, Shimadamart is the only place to shop, really.

It's just when Tadashi sees the man away from settings of nostalgia, he always manages to remember: What it felt like to be fifteen with a overwhelming crush on someone ten years his elder; it was somehow like having a crush on a teacher.

Yet it was so much worse, because Makoto could ruffle his hair and clap him on the back and shower him with praise that he soaked up like a sponge, joke with him, complain about adult life in ways that a teacher could not, suffusing the harsh crumbling edges of his admiration with a soft glow of pride.

How it felt as he grew older, his stumbling puppy-love crush turning into something quiet and mellow and sweet against the back of his tongue as the jump float lessons bled into snacktimes and discussions about girl managers—he also liked Yachi quite a bit—and how the team was doing, one-on-one volleys, and pick-up shifts at the Shimadamart, green apron tied snugly around his waist as he swept and Makoto reached around his shoulder for a new roll of date stickers, breath warm against his cheek as Makoto huffs out a laughing apology for bumping into him. As that feeling settled into the back of his chest as college grew closer and his feelings for Kei bloomed even bigger until graduation.

He still has the gut-punch of rushing fondness every time he sees Makoto, it makes him ache with nostalgia, to remember. It’s not the dizzy warmth that Kei brings to him, or even the stumbling anxiousness it first was, but Tadashi still has a very very soft spot for Makoto and those over-large glasses he’s perpetually pushing up and his rolled up sleeves and rumpled polo’s.

“You seem like you’re doing well for yourself; are you having fun?” Makoto asks, nursing his own drink.

Tadashi considers this for a moment. “Well.”

“If you have to think that long,” the older man laughs. “Then I think you should worry.”

Tadashi chuckles. “No it's just, I always remember what you told me, when people ask if it's fun. Sometimes it's still hard to get my body to do what it needs to.”

“You still remember that? A big league player like yourself?” Makoto leers.

Sometimes his teasing isn't terribly different from how Kei teases him. Tadashi supposes that's what ultimately prompts him to say what he does, that and the warm closeness as their shoulders bump and the way the room is loud with everyone’s chatter. It puts him at ease enough to say it.

“Of course I do,” he laughs, taking a sip of his drink. “It really resonated with me, you know? And I had the hugest crush on you throughout high school—there was no way I was going to forget anything you said.”

Makoto splutters on his drink, glasses slipping down his nose as he chokes. He's a bit embarrassed to feel his cheeks warm— at his age, he shouldn't be surprised by confessions. Especially ones given so candidly. But it’s been a while, he thinks, giving himself a bit of mental padding.

Tadashi blinks and then chuckles again, “No need to freak out over it, Makoto-san. Napkin?” He adds, holding out a handful.

Makoto shakes his head, wiping off his mouth with his sleeve. Tadashi looks a bit disappointed, and for the first time Makoto sees him as an actual adult, and not the gawky, shy teenager who desperately demanded lessons from him. “You? O...on _me_? I'm ten years older than you!”

Tadashi raises an eyebrow skeptically. Worry creeps the edges of his mouth down, but Makoto can tell it's not the same sort of concern as he would have had in high school. “Yes,” Tadashi answers. “I mean, isn't it a bit common to have crushes on teachers and coaches? Because they’re there and friendly and they’re helpful?  I never expected anything _from_ it. It was just, yanno, there.”

“I thought you— you and Tsukishima? You're dating right? I mean, I saw when you two came in, you were...”

Tadashi perks up at the query, smile turning up the edges of his eyes and crinkling his nose. “We are,” he answers proudly. “Since graduation. I don't see how that invalidates my crush though?”

Makoto can sense he's hurting Tadashi's feelings by so vehemently denying the information he was given, but he's struggling to make sense of it all. “But didn't you—I thought for a while that you two were… I thought you liked him back then, too.”

He vividly remembers hearing Tadashi call his friend _Tsukki_ that he'd picked it up himself; it wasn’t until Kei had made a face and said ‘ _please don't call me that_ ’ that Makoto had realized that Tadashi’s nickname for Kei was… More of a pet name than a real nickname.

Tadashi shrugs. It strikes Makoto as strange that such a movement can be so expressive—he wonders if he’s already drunk. But Tadashi’s shoulders are broad, and Makoto knows he _watched_ Tadashi grow broader and taller before his very eyes, all three years of high school and then in snapshots in pickup games and visits to the market and holiday help. He knows, logically, he watched as Tadashi’s puppy fat melted from his cheeks and jaw and his patchy acne clear up and as his hair grew long and shaggy.

But he never saw him as anything more than a stringy kid who reminded him painfully of himself.

“I didn’t realize I could only like one person at a time,” Tadashi says. He shakes his beer bottle thoughtfully, foam spitting up little bubbles at his fingers.

“Usually?”

“Really?” Tadashi laughs. He looks at Makoto’s face and his smile softens. “Tsukki teases me about it, too, don’t worry. But, you know, there are different sorts of crushes. It’s a bit different to have a crush on a friend, who—maybe, you could have a chance with! It’s nerve-wracking. And endless. The other sort is the kind where you know that you can’t ever have the person. They’re different.”

“I see,” Makoto mumbles. He lets the silence drag on until it’s almost awkward, and it’s _embarrassing_ to be his age and at loss for words. “So—Tsukishima. Graduation, you say?”

“Yep,” Tadashi answers happily. He looks over to the other side of the party room, where Noya was pushing on Kei’s shoulders as he jumps. He laughs and turns his gaze back to Makoto. “After all the time I spent worrying about it, you know, it was really easy. All I had to do was ask him for his uniform button—I didn’t want any of the girls to have it, you know. Not that I thought Tsukki would give it, but… I didn’t want them to even _ask_.”

There’s a fond look on Tadashi’s face that softens the hard lines of his cheeks and makes his eyes crinkle. That at least, hasn’t changed—the warm way he talks about his best friend. There’s a different depth to the affection now, something in the way the smile is more in his eyes than on his lips and how he laughs without really making a noise, that Makoto can only assume comes from four years of dating and hard work built on the confidence that Tadashi grew in high school.

 _That_ at least, Makoto had seen grow.

“Yeah? So you confessed?” he prompts. He’s not sure how he wasn’t aware this happened, because Tadashi had worked for him that summer break after he’d started college. He tries to remember, but all he can recall is Kei coming by at the end of Tadashi’s shift, looking irritated in the heat. He remembers a large straw hat that Tadashi had plunked on his friend’s head, but not anything that would have indicated a couple in their honeymoon phase.

Though, judging by the look on Tadashi’s face, they’re still in that phase. They probably have really good sex, he finds himself thinking idly and immediately regretting it. He takes a long chug of his drink.

“Nah,” Tadashi says. “I tried to be slick and play it off like, ‘oh hey so those girls don’t bug you, just give it to me and tell them you already gave it away. I’ll keep it safe’.” He laughs and grins. “And Tsukki just looks at me and says, ‘Well, you can keep my heart safe too, if you want’.”

“Ugh, stop telling that story to everyone,” Kei comments.

Tadashi turns and beams, “Tsukki! It’s cute, though.”

Kei sighs through his nose and raises a hand in greeting towards Makoto, who feels even guiltier now that he’s faced with Kei for real. He feels a bit dirty for ogling the younger man’s boyfriend now, even if said boyfriend had just wistfully confessed an old crush. And for imagining them having sex. That’s awkward.

“It’s rather endearing,” Makoto laughs, raising an eyebrow.

“Isn’t it? I felt like he’d picked me up and swung me in the air like a princess or something,” Tadashi says happily.

Kei rolls his eyes and snorts, “You say that about anything that makes you happy. You get swept off your feet too easily, I mean, c’mon.”

“I am a man of simple pleasures,” Tadashi says seriously.

Makoto sniggers into his drink and slides from his seat before he can get himself in any deeper. “I’m going back to join Keishin and the others,” he announces. He tries not to notice Tadashi looking vaguely disappointed.

“Ah, Makoto-san,” Tadashi murmurs, “Don’t dwell on what I said—I only mentioned it because we’re on good terms, I’m sorry if it upset you.”

Makoto blinks but shakes his head. He claps his former pupil on the shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. “It’s fine.”

He’s a little unnerved by how his heart skips at the grin Tadashi gives him and how warm Tadashi’s hand is as Tadashi pats his elbow. He withdraws, clutching his beer close.

Tadashi is still far too young for him to be interested in—and it’s especially petty to only be interested in looking at him as an adult after a confession. But, somehow the Tadashi that was he spent so much time mentoring and the Tadashi that graduated, went to college, and went on to be a major player on his university’s team existed as two separate people in his mind.

It’s hard to make them align. What’s even harder, though, is the realization that the Tadashi he thought he knew four years ago wasn’t all of his pupil: The way that Tadashi had lamented  and confided his problems in him had made Makoto think that Tadashi had told him everything.

It was a rather immature thought. He also thinks, blearily as he’s staring at his feet with two hands on his back as he stumbles along concrete sidewalks, that it was rather immature to drink to avoid existential crisis. He hears the two men’s voices as garbles; he closes his eyes so the world will stop spinning and he can listen.

“We’re taking him home…. Because?”

“Tsukki,” Tadashi _tsks_ , “Our apartment is closest. We can’t just put him in a taxi.”

“Sure we can, that’s what we did for everyone else. Some friends of his, leaving him behind.”

“Didn’t leave me,” Makoto hiccups. He’s going home with Tadashi and Kei, of all people. Just his luck. “I sent them on without me.”

“See?” Tadashi says. He adjusts his arm around Makoto, hefting him up a little more as he starts to slide towards the ground. “Easy there, Makoto-san. Hang in there for a few more blocks.”

“This guy smells like a bar,” Kei complains. “This is taking celebrating to a whole new level.”

“Go easy on him,” Tadashi murmurs. His fingers clench against Makoto’s shirt. The action sends a shiver of butterflies into Makoto’s stomach, which isn’t probably the best thing, considering how drunk he is. “It’s… well. Probably my mistake. It freaked him out.”

“I’d be flattered if I was him,” Kei snorts.

“You _know_?” Makoto slurs, opening his eyes and peering up at Kei.

“You _didn’t_?” Kei asks as he looks down at Makoto. There’s a twitch of his mouth and then a roll of his eyes at Makoto’s owlish blinking and sliding glasses. “You’re not the first terrible crush Tadashi’s had.”

“Hey,” Tadashi laughs, only mockingly affronted. “I had a crush on _you_.”

“And nii-san. And Yachi, and Tanaka, and Oikawa-san, and Suga-senpai, and…oh, yeah, _Takeda-sensei_.”

“ _Hey_! That was one very unfortunate dream!” Tadashi protests.

Makoto’s mind reels at the very long list of people, most of whom are older than Tadashi. He tries to find another thread but his mind is too lost and hazy to. “You’re okay? With that?”

Kei shrugs as they usher Makoto along. “Why wouldn’t I be? We’re fine the way we are, which includes Tadashi coming home every three weeks talking about a cute senpai or a nice waiter.”

“I don’t like people _that_ quickly,” Tadashi complains.

Makoto loses the thread of their banter quickly after that, and barely remembers even collapsing onto the sofa where he wakes, some hours later, in complete darkness. His face aches from being pushed into the sofa cushions, mouth dry.

He reaches out in front of him, fingers searching in the dark for his glasses. Someone—probably Tadashi, his brain supplies—was kind enough to remove them for him. He’s thoroughly embarrassed that he’d gotten himself so drunk that he couldn’t get himself home—he knew that while he could out-drink Keishin, he definitely couldn’t out-drink Takinoue and the baby-faced teacher that had been the club advisor. It’d been stupid to try, but he’d wanted to distract himself from the mental image of Tadashi blushing and shirtless—for some stupid reason.

This was a kid he’d mentored, after all. He could almost laugh at his own desperateness; he doesn’t get out much, and thirty-three, he’s found it kind of hard to pick up people. It’s not that he’s exactly lonely, or even looking to settle down (thank god his parent’s aren’t like Keishin’s, who wanted him married at thirty), but it’s nice to be liked, even if it was a seven-year-old crush now.

And Tadashi is attractive in the sort of way that creeps up on you and then takes your breath away.

He bangs his forehead against the arm of the sofa and inadvertently pokes himself in the eye trying to jam his glasses on.

He rolls over and sits up slowly, trying to gauge just how bad his hangover is, or if he’s even there yet. He decides he’s halfway between drunk and hung over, and he could probably sleep the rest of it off if he took care of the dry mouth. He stands and squints in the darkness.

A thread of light pools out from an ajar door, and it gives him just enough sight to shuffle past it to the bathroom, where he takes care of his full bladder, washes his face and hands, then gulps water from his cupped hands. It’s metallic and flat-tasting, but it’s better than completely waking up his fuzzy brain trying to find Tadashi and Kei’s cup cabinet and trying to figure out if they get their water from a filter, the tap, or whatever.

In truth, he’s just too lazy and too ashamed to be caught by Tadashi and Kei—who are obviously still awake judging by the light in—well he assumes it’s their bedroom. He’d rather wait until the morning where he can construct a better excuse than getting shook up by a confession for getting piss drunk.

He pads down the hallway, now a little more awake. He catches a few more details this trip down the hallway—the pictures on the wall, the little row of hooks and pegs that line the hallway like a school cubby room, and…

Makoto freezes just in front of the beam of light that cuts through the dark. He feels his ears grow hot. Surely he didn’t hear what…

A soft groan and a murmur. The distinctive squeak of bedsprings; a wet noise followed by another moan, this time sharper.

Shadows across the light. More rustling and the sound of skin meeting skin sharply.

He covers his mouth and feels his stomach tighten.

Tadashi and Kei are having sex. And as the noises grow more steady, it becomes obvious that they’re not being quiet about it. They must think he’s completely and totally passed out; he doesn’t really blame them. He’d been pretty drunk.

He bites his lip as he hears Tadashi’s distinct voice, low and husky, start to mewl out words between sharp intakes of breath and murmured moans. “Mm, Kei, right there, up—lift up,” Makoto hears.

He’s struck with sudden curiosity. The directions are for general things, interspersed with praise; he wonders who exactly is doing what.

He knows he should just close his eyes and walk past, bury his head back into the sofa covers and will the tightening in his jeans away.

But he wants to see.

Makoto inches forward and peers into the bedroom.

Kei is sprawled out on the bed, head propped back on a pile of pillows and knees up, feet braced on the sheets. His face is red and hazy, eyes sharp behind fogged glasses. He arches his hips up, and above him, Tadashi arches and grasps the hands on his hips.

He’s braced over Kei, kneeling almost. He rocks his body in a sinuous wave of motion that makes his flush cock bob against his stomach and grinds Kei’s erection inside of him. He’s flushed and sweating, muscles playing tightly underneath tan skin. Makoto can see the darkest smatterings of freckles and the down of his hair from the hallway.

He gives a soft groan despite himself as he watches Tadashi rise up onto his knees, exposing the base of  Kei’s slick and pink erection before dropping down on it, moaning loudly in time with the way he lets himself bob up and down against Kei’s thrusts upwards.

He doesn’t think they notice, but Kei’s sharp eyes dart from where he was raptly watching Tadashi’s face screw up in pleasure to the doorway.

They make eye contact and Makoto’s blood runs cold. Kei tips his head to the side, then grins, slow and lazy. He lets his hips drop and Tadashi keens with loss, grinding down in circles against his lover.

“Kei, Kei, Kei,” Tadashi whines, hips jerking as his cock leaks. Makoto can see his stomach clench and unclench in a tight rhythm as he tries to get back the stimulation he just lost. “Please.”

“Mm, I changed my mind,” Kei says softly, stroking up and down Tadashi’s thigh. He walks his fingers up to his lover’s hip, then slides them, loose-gripped, against Tadashi’s erection. He pumps slow, smearing pearly precum against the flushed flesh. Tadashi’s eyes flutter and he whines as Kei removes his hands.

“Mmn? Kei, what?” Tadashi asks mournfully. Kei reaches around Tadashi and gathers the flesh of the other man’s ass in his hands and kneads.

Kei spreads Tadashi and squeezes and pushes him up from his seat on Kei’s cock. “I want to play with this a bit more.”

“You’re already inside of me,” Tadashi whines again, grinding down until he’s flush against Kei. “Don’t tease.”

“Get off,” Kei says sternly. His grin widens as he reaches up and tugs at Tadashi’s hair, bowing the man’s back.

Makoto feels himself throb in his jeans. Kei makes eye contact with him again as Tadashi moans, but rises to his knees. Kei slides free from him with a wet pop and seconds later, he’s pushed Tadashi face-down onto the bed, hand curled into Tadashi’s hair as he urges him to raise his hips.

Tadashi moans into the sheets, shuffling until he’s resting on his forearms and spread-apart knees, ass in the air. Kei lets go of his hair to slide his hands down Tadashi’s shoulders and back, pushing down until Tadashi’s straining to keep the position.

“Look at this,” Kei murmurs.

Makoto knows he’s talking to him, because Kei looks at him as he says it. Tadashi has his face in the sheets and doesn’t know. It stirs something hot and needy in the pit of Makoto’s stomach.

“I should have tied you up tonight,” Kei murmurs, pressing kisses down the knobs of Tadashi’s spine. “Forget nice, soft sex. I want a show. Are you going to give a show, Tadashi?”

Tadashi gives a soft hiccupping moan as Kei spreads his cheeks apart, exposing his slick and pink hole to the air. Kei shifts just so, allowing Makoto to see as he hooks his thumbs into the ring of muscle and flesh and pulls Tadashi open. “How about I fill this pretty hole up until it leaks everywhere,” Kei murmurs, rubbing his thumbs inside of Tadashi.

Makoto  wants to see it. He wants to see Tadashi thoroughly wrecked, what it looks like to see the muscles he helped build tighten in orgasm. How loud Tadashi’s soft voice could be. Just how submissive Tadashi, with his spitfire will, can be. His hand creeps down to the bulge in his jeans.

Kei, who’s yet to break his gaze with Makoto, catches the movement and grins. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

It’s Tadashi who answers with a nod and a push backwards. Kei lets him go and threads his fingers into Tadashi’s hair and tugs his head back.

“Let me see your face,” Kei murmurs, thrusting his hips up against Tadashi. It takes a few moments of rutting against the cleft of Tadashi’s ass for Kei to slide in, and when he does, Tadashi closes his eyes and moans.

From there, it’s a downhill slope of rough thrusts and grinding that makes the bed shake and thud. Makoto can see the way Tadashi’s body jolts with each thrust, the way his thighs tremble and how the very slight layer of fat on his stomach hangs and jiggles as Kei pushes forward. He can see the way the sheets ruck up against Tadashi as the motion scoots him forward onto the bed, watches as he starts to grow weak from pleasure, and how Kei puts a hand flat on his stomach and pushes him up even as he hunches into each movement.

He sees Tadashi’s erection leak and bob and purple, streams of precum leaking and spurting in weak threads, soaking Makoto’s own erection. Kei gives a grunt and drapes himself over Tadashi’s back, hands scrambling for hold. One hand finds Tadashi’s and the other grasps at his thigh, fingers tight and leaving white marks around them.

Tadashi gives a low moan and Makoto watches as Kei’s hips circle in a tight rhythm, and it’s not until he sees semen start to trickle down Tadashi’s dark thighs that he realizes that Kei has come.

Tadashi pushes back and whines, shaking. “Please,” he cries in a broken voice that makes Makoto’s dick swell in his hands and has him pushing his forehead against the doorframe, teeth locked tight against his lip in an effort to keep the call of pleasure in his throat quiet.

He keeps his eyes open, though, even though he wants to close them and imagine that it’s him inside of Tadashi, semen hot around them. That he could push into Tadashi and fuck him until his hole was soft and pliant and spilling cum and lube for him. He watches Kei’s hands drift to Tadashi’s stomach, rubbing at him as he shifts his hips to slide from Tadashi. Tadashi’s eyes are closed, mouth open and shiny with drool as Kei slides a hand between his legs and drapes his chin on his shoulder, nuzzling Tadashi’s turned-up cheek.  

The sight makes Makoto shiver and want. He wants to stride out and put his dick to those shiny lips, have Tadashi suck him off while Kei rubs his stomach and hips and jerks him off.

Tadashi tips his head back and Kei runs his nose against Tadashi’s cheek, working Tadashi until he’s once again squirming and moaning.

“Gonna—Kei—please, more—I’m gonna,” Tadashi babbles, hips jerking into Kei’s palm.

Makoto draws in a breath, waiting for Tadashi to come. He’s almost sad though, that it’ll be over and he’ll still be hard and without any partner but his own hand and his imagination. But Kei clamps his hand against the base of Tadashi’s dick, halting his lover’s orgasm.

“Show’s not over yet, love,” Kei murmurs. “…Our audience isn’t satisfied yet.”

Tadashi's eyes flutter open, lips parting in silent question. They open further as he moans, obscenely loud, as Kei twists his fingers against his base, eyes slamming shut.

 “Or do you want the show to finish with him cumming without you ever getting the chance to touch?” Kei taunts. “If you're not quick, that's what's going to happen.”

Makoto can tell: Tadashi's erection is soaked and purpling, twitching even with Kei's hand keeping him from coming on himself. Kei nudges a knee between Tadashi's thighs and parts his legs again.

He wants to touch. He wants to bump his dick against the damp, parted seam of Tadashi's lips and feel the younger man pant and whimper. He wants to wreck Tadashi's lithe body and feel the burning pit of Kei's gaze in his stomach. 

He steps forward and Kei grins at him, smug and feral. Tadashi opens his eyes again, gazing at Makoto with blown-wide pupils and fluttering lashes.

“I see,” Tadashi pants.

He thinks of Tadashi’s frankness and he thinks of him as a high schooler and he sees him as an adult, a full nine years older than when they first met.

He  marvels at how unquestioning Tadashi is at the whole thing—he almost wonders if he’s been roped into some scheme between the two, but… He shakes away the thought. He’s too caught up to bother with thinking about anything but the way Tadashi’s back arches and how there’s dimples at the base of his spine and what it would feel like  to trace his fingers up the muscles he had a role in training up.

“If you don’t hurry,” Kei murmurs, kissing a trail down Tadashi’s neck to his shoulder, shifting his body just so, so that the curve of Tadashi’s spine is visible. There are red tracks on his lower back where Kei had scratched at him—from before he’d stumbled across them, Makoto thinks.

It sends the knot of arousal sinking deeper into his stomach—to think about how good it must feel fucking Tadashi to make the ever-composed Tsukishima Kei _claw_ at his lover. He registers that Kei’s lips are moving before he processes the words.

“If you don’t hurry, I’ll finish him right up,” Kei repeats, smirking at Makoto’s dumbstruck panting.

Kei _knows_ they look good, knows they’ve put on the best sort of show. Knows that Tadashi was tighter for it, louder for it, will kneel and push his face into the mattress for it. Knows that Tadashi’s playing surprised by blinking those doe eyes at Makoto, who’s trembling with want. Knows that Tadashi wanted them to have the thrill of having sex

It makes his stomach churn with lust and the desire to see Tadashi desperate and writing and overwhelmed around someone else’s cock. He wants to see them fuck so badly that he knows he’ll be hard again before it’s all over.

“Do you not want sloppy seconds?” Kei taunts. He keeps his fingers clamped carefully around Tadashi’s erection, ignoring the way his palm is cramping up. He runs his free hand against Tadashi’s back, shifting himself so he’s kneeling next to his lover.

Tadashi leans onto his forearms, face twisting in blissful agony as Kei’s fingers push inside of him. Kei thrusts a few times, harsh and jerky, deliberately angling his fingers in such a way that makes the most noise. He feels semen and lube start to trickle from him in hot tracks that make his face burn and his thighs tremble.

He feels like an object and he loves it, loves the fire that it sends through his veins, loves Kei’s rough fingers and Makoto’s heavy breaths. Their eyes on him. He can feel them wanting him, almost.

“I can do something about that if that’s it.”

Kei’s fingers crook and he scoops them against Tadashi’s walls. Tadashi keens, high and desperate as it spills out of him and down his thighs, coating the cleft of his ass and the back of his balls. Makoto sucks in a breath and Tadashi forces himself to look as the older man steps forward. There are tentative fingers in his hair.

Tadashi whines and Kei twists his thumb and forefinger around his cock, squeezing slightly. He chokes on the sound.

“….is this alright?” Makoto asks softly.

“Of course it’s fine,” Kei says dismissively, popping his fingers free from Tadashi.

“...Tadashi?”

“Please,” Tadashi moans, burying his face into the pillow. “Something, do something, please. _Fuck_. Please.”

Makoto swallows hard, watching as Kei smears his cum-stained fingers up Tadashi’s back. Tadashi’s ass and hole and legs glitter with sweat and semen, white beads of it drying against dark curls. He shoves his pants and underwear down, then sinks his knees onto the bed.

His hands find Tadashi’s ass, trembling touch soft at first against firm, sticky skin. He then squeezes as he settles himself beween Tadashi’s legs, pulling apart the cheeks. Tadashi arches his body back, presenting his pink and shiny hole to Makoto with a moan.

Kei murmurs something that Makoto doesn’t hear, but it makes Tadashi moan. Anything that keeps Tadashi making that noise is bliss, as is the way Tadashi’s hole twitches, flush and loose and coated with semen.

He leans forward and presses his mouth to it. He sucks and presses the flat of his tongue to hot skin, lapping up every sticky smear of Kei’s cum. He maneuvers his hands so  he can push his thumbs into Tadashi, tongue following suit.

Tadashi clamps against him, then relaxes, muscles loosening around Makoto’s mouth. He leans and squirms and pushes against Makoto’s mouth, and Makoto laps and pushes back and curls his thumbs until his jaw is numb and he can no longer taste the salt of Kei’s semen on his tongue. He withdraws his tongue, but leaves his mouth on Tadashi’s skin even as he slides up his body, hands firm against Tadashi’s heaving sides.

He’s shaking and held up only by Makoto’s hands on him and Kei’s hands on his hips. While he had his face buried between Tadashi’s cheeks, Kei had laid on his back and scooted himself underneath Tadashi, legs draped over the far side of the bed. Judging by the way Tadashi’s voice echoes off of the walls and the wet noises coming from underneath them, Kei’s mouth is on Tadashi’s dick.

Makoto’s erection throbs painfully at the sounds. He ruts needily between Tadashi's cheeks, sliding easily against the slick mess of cum and spit. Tadashi's balls are tight against his flesh, and Makoto rubs himself between them, bumping against Kei's fingers, then lips. He has Tadashi buried in his mouth.

“Shit,” he gasps, body shaking. His face feels overly hot and his fingers cold. Tadashi grinds back into him, voice hiccuping over desperate moans.

He fumbles, has to grasp himself and hold his dick steady. Tadashi's spins dips and arches as he strains to hold himself up, presenting his ass to Makoto.

He forgets to breathe. Even to think. He doesn't even remember pushing himself in, only how Tadashi starts to writhe and and how the younger man clenches himself and suckles Makoto deeper inside, rocking his body back in time with the way he rhythmically flexes the ring of muscles around Makoto's erection.

Makoto thrusts forward, hips slapping against Tadashi's ass as he pushes his entire body into his former student's. He aligns his chest to the crests of Tadashi's shoulders and pushes his face against Tadashi's jaw.

He can't move. If he moves, he'll come. He wants more, Tadashi is sobbing for more, asshole fluttering and clamping against him.

He cups Tadashi's stomach, tracing downwards, feeling the sharp lines of Kei's face pressed into sweaty pubic hair. He presses softly, and Kei pulls from his lover's cock with a wet pop.

He traces over the soaked lines of Tadashi's swollen cock. Feels the line of his leaking slit, precum thick and sticky over his fingers; the slide of his foreskin and the pulse from engorged veins. He clamps his own fingers over Kei's, who slips away.

Kei sits up and grabs Makoto's jaw with sticky fingers, turning his head. Lips press hot and damp against his own, and Makoto's head reels, mouth falling open.

He hadn't prepared himself for kissing.

Kei's tongue, hot and slick, dips into his mouth and Makoto slides his own back. Kei parts his lips and fluid, hot and salty and thick flows into his mouth and over his lips. Makoto groans and pushes harder into the kiss, tongue flicking into Kei's mouth, lapping up the taste of Tadashi in the blond's mouth.

They pull away , both swallowing and mouths slick with strings of pearly white saliva. Tadashi sobs at the lack of attention.

“He's been a good little cock slut,” Kei rasps, “Let him get a little more messy.”

Makoto nods and grinds roughly against Tadashi before letting his erection go.

Tadashi's entire body shudders and Makoto can only describe the force of his muscles as a clamp as he comes against Makoto's hands, thick and hot, and almost endless. He lurches with each thrust of his hips against Makoto's fingers, a new spurt of semen each time, until he's dry, still thrusting and sobbing, body utterly wracked in orgasm.

Tadashi is utterly ruined, sobbing in overstimulation as his body heaves, Makoto's dick hot and insistently rubbing against his prostate. He can't feel anything but that and the throbbing of his cock, sensitive and still swollen with painful arousal and he wants...

He wails and writhes and Makoto pets him with wet hands, covering him with his own cum, body rocking into him. He can't breathe and can't see, eyes open against the fabric of his pillowcases. He digs his nails into the sheets and he hears Kei's low, rough voice praising him and Makoto both.

He focuses on that, stomach stirring and burning hotter with arousal as Kei moans out praise, the knowledge that Kei is hard again and pleasured by watching him get wrecked getting him off just as hard as Makoto thrusting into him and Kei's mouth on his dick had.

He shudders again and keens, feeling the wave of pleasure finally break.

He sags into Makoto's grip, who pulls from him. Two sets of hands roll him over and two sex-rough voices praise him.  Tadashi smiles languidly and spreads himself out on the sheets, arching his back to present his cum-soaked belly to them.

Kei murmurs quietly. “Lean back,” he instructs Makoto.

Makoto nods, panting. He palms himself as Kei crawls over Tadashi, kissing over Tadashi's face.

He turns his head, golden irises glittering around dark, dilated pupils. “Fuck my thighs. He wants us to come on him.”

Tadashi gives a sleepy purr of acknowledgement, hands looping around Kei's neck, nuzzling the blond's face with an intimacy that makes Makoto's dick throb. He slides between Kei's thighs and thrusts.

Kei closes himself around him, and soon they're thrusting against each other. Tadashi kisses them both messily, and soon, they cover him with their orgasm.

Tadashi is a sight, all dark, dusky skin and lithe muscles, his face flushed. He's spread limp against the bed, face lined with creases from the press into the pillows, mouth swollen and eyes pink-rimmed and damp from tears. His cock, limp and flushed and covered white rests on his still-quivering belly, twitching occasionally. He's soaked with sweat and splattered with semen, thighs dark and flushed spread open.

Kei apparently enjoys looking so much that he grabs a phone and snaps several pictures. A smile turns up the corners of Tadashi's mouth.

Makoto reaches out and skims his fingers against Tadashi's sticky stomach, finger painting a trail of semen up his abdomen and sternum before pressing his fingers to Tadashi's lips in a daze. More pictures.

Tadashi takes the fingers into his mouth and suckles them clean with a languid sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Makoto leans forward and replaces his fingers with his mouth, tongue seeking out the taste of his and Kei's combined release.

He pulls back and admires the sight once more, then pulls off his sweaty tee shirt, carefully wiping Tadashi as clean as he can.

Kei curls up beside Tadashi, watching Makoto's clumsily tender motions with a cat-eyed smirk. Makoto feels like his time is over. But when he goes to slide from the bed, Tadashi grabs him loosely.

But it's Kei's sleepy voice that says, “After all that, you're too shy to sleep in the same bed as us?”

He falls asleep warm and a bit cramped, fingers laced with Tadashi’s, Kei’s hand covering their intertwined fingers.

When Makoto wakes, head dully throbbing and mouth dry, he doesn't remember where he is. He stares at the unfamiliar ceiling, feeling grimy as he tries to recall if he checked into a hotel completely smashed.

Then he remembers, stomach flipping. He's mortified to find neither of them beside him, just a pair of jeans and a college sweatshirt with his glasses perched atop them.

He changes and runs a hand through his hair, feeling grimy. He smells coffee. He pads carefully down the hall, hanging back as he surveys the scene:

Tadashi is curled against the arm of the sofa, coffee mug between his hands as he reads on the tablet balanced in his lap. His hair is pulled into a messy knot that shows the littering of bruises on his neck from their... Threesome, Makoto realizes with a skip of his heart—they had a _threesome_. Something he’d never imagined.

And Tadashi is lounging in front of him, the most alluring thing he's ever seen.

He watches as Kei pours himself a cup of coffee and leans against the back of the couch, kissing the top of Tadashi's hair. He turns that same cat-eyed, smug and lazy smirk to Makoto.

“Good morning,” he greets. “We made you coffee.”

“Your clothes are in the washer,” Tadashi says cheerfully, voice rough around the edges.

Makoto goes home that afternoon with clean clothes, several new hickies, Kei and Tadashi's numbers, and a standing invitation to their apartment.


End file.
